


One Night in Edinburgh

by iihappydaysii



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Facials, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Sex Work, Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22797391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iihappydaysii/pseuds/iihappydaysii
Summary: Lord John Grey visits Jamie at his printshop in Edinburgh and ends up staying the night in Jamie's room at the brothel where they are inspired by noises in the next room.
Relationships: Jamie Fraser/Lord John Grey, Original Male Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 15
Kudos: 210





	One Night in Edinburgh

**Author's Note:**

> **inspired by anon I was sent on tumblr**

“It’s an extra shilling if ye want to put it in my arse,” said the unseen Scottish whore.

A gruff voice replied, “Six pence and I only put it half way in.”

“Six pence and no more than the tip,” she countered,

“Oh, all right, lass.”

Grey stared up at the wooden slats above him. He was laid out on the floor atop a pile of quilts and furs. One quilt had been hastily torn off Jamie’s bed, and it smelled like him. Like printer’s ink and smoldering wood. He’d come to visit Jamie at his new home in Edinburgh, though he had not expected Jamie, of all people, to have taken up residence in the top room of a whore house.

“She’s a fine negotiator,” Jamie’s voice floated through the stale darkness. “We could’ve used her during the rebellion.”

The serious tone of Jamie’s reply made Grey chuckle. It was only because Grey knew him, that he could tell the Scot been trying to coax a laugh out of him. 

As they both laid in the dark, Grey on the floor and Jamie on the mattress beside him, the noises continued on in the next room. A mix of insolent sighs, followed by rehearsed moans, with a mix of ugly, rough grunts. He listened to those noises deepen and speed up, until they ended all together. Only a few moments later and the door to that room opened and closed again.

“Do you _ever_ get any sleep?” There was an air of humor in John’s voice.

Jamie replied with a breathy laugh of his own. “Aye, if i’m tired enough at the end of the day.”

When Grey learned he’d be traveling near Edinburgh, he’d considered not stopping by to see Jamie err A. Malcolm and his printshop, but in the end, the temptation had been too great. He’d showed up unannounced and was surprised at how genuinely glad Jamie seemed to be to see him. He’d also been surprised at himself, how _stirred_ he’d been by all the new grey in his red and by those damn reading glasses. 

Jamie had happily shown Grey around his printshop. He looked so proud of it, which made him feel hearth-warm between his ribs. A rebellious part of him imagined a world whereafter Helwater, Jamie had asked him to abandon all his duties and run away with him here to run this printshop together, even if just as friends. It was a silly thought. Among other things, one of them had to be there for William, and it couldn’t be Jamie.

But after Jamie had finished his duties at the printshop, they’d taken dinner together at a tavern house nearby, where Jamie had shared stories of Fergus and his nephew Ian and Grey shared tales of Willie’s adventures, of how much he still loved riding.

“Do ye have lodgings here?” Jamie had asked, when they’d both found the bottom of their tankards. 

“No, not yet.” John had leaned back in his dining chair. “I was going to go look for a room after dinner.”

“Ye can stay with me. It’s not much, but ye are welcome.” His lips tilted into a smile.

It had been an easy request to agree to.

“Please, take off your clothes,” a deep, masculine voice, like dark lager, boomed in the room next door. It returned Grey from his thoughts to the present moment. “Slowly.”

“Aye, sir,” came the Scottish whore’s now familiar voice.

There were a few bumping sounds next door, but it was quieter than it had been all night.

“All of them,” the man encouraged. 

“You are… exquisite. Lie down on the bed. No, not like that. I want to see your face.” The more Grey heard of the man, the more familiar the disembodied voice sounded. 

“Jamie?” Grey whispered, as the idea fully formed in his mind. “Are you awake?”

He could hear Jamie turn over in the bed. “Aye, what is it?”

“That voice… that’s that man, isn’t it? The man who was sat besides us at dinner.”

Jamie replied with a grunt that Grey knew meant he was uncertain and that he’d need more information to find his certainty. And maybe—Grey thought—he shouldn’t be so fluent in the meaning of the Jamie Fraser’s grunts. 

“Touch yourself,” the unseen man said darkly. 

In not long at all, the whore was responding with loud, wailing moans. It was obvious, even without seeing her, that she was playing along as she expected the man who’d paid for her would want.

“No, not like that,” the man said. “I want you to touch yourself in the way you would do alone, to bring yourself pleasure.”

The Scottish whore jumped in, “That still costs—”

“I know. I want to watch you make yourself feel good.”

“Christ, I think it is,” Jamie said, sounding surprised Grey had been right. 

With Jamie’s support of his theory, Grey’s mind wandered to his memory of the man from the table next to theirs in the tavern house. Perfect ink-black hair, blue eyes and a strong jaw. He was tall and lean with long fingers, three rings on each hand. He hadn’t paid much attention, as Jamie was there, but he’d remembered thinking: another place, another time.

Before he could stop it, a dark, sexual noise tumbled from Grey’s lips.

“What do ye mean by that?” Jamie mumbled, in the darkness.

“I said nothing, Jamie.”

“No, but you… that man… he was _attractive_ to you, wasn’t he?” There was skepticism in Jamie’s voice. Something else too, but Grey could not name it yet. He could choose not to answer the question. He could lie or he could…

“Yes,” Grey admitted.

Next door, the Scottish whore was whining and gasping and calling out for God and all his saints. 

“What do ye like in men?” Jamie sounded uncertain, his words footsteps on spring ice. “Does it even matter? What they’re like?”

“Yes, it matters. But I like different types of men. Do you not find women attractive who look very different from each other and then still find some others unattractive?”

“Stop,” a loud command from the man next door interrupted any chance for Jamie to reply. “Take your hands off yourself. Come here.”

“What do ye want me to do, sir?” she asked.

“Shh…” the man’s voice was like honey-butter. “You don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of you now.”

Grey shuddered. That man could take care of him… _another time, another place._ Besides, even that handsome man wasn’t what he truly wanted, what his body and soul had ached for for years. 

“How often do you have men?” Jamie whispered. It was hard to believe he was asking questions this directly, on this particular subject matter, but maybe there was something about the darkness that made Jamie feel safe asking, like the darkness would simply eat the words up after they were spoken.

“Often enough…” Grey replied, quiet as a church mouse, though his prick thought to make itself far more known. “More often than they have me.” 

Jamie let out a heavy breath and his voice rolled across the room like a thundercloud, “And ye do that, sometimes, let men bugger you.”

Grey shut his eyes, feeling an almost crushing heat. “Yes. Not indiscriminately, but _yes_.”

A long moment of silence, heavy as lead passed before Jamie spoke again, “Do ye enjoy it?”

It could be the best and worst of it, Grey thought. 

“If they do it properly yes. If they take their time and use oil… and it helps if I trust the man.”

Next door, the man said, “So beautiful, you opening up for me like that.” It was hard not to picture those long, ringed fingers working inside this woman, until she was wet and wanting. 

Beyond the noises outside the room, there was something new happening _inside_ the room. The sound of skin sliding rhythmically against skin. Grey felt a rush of arousal.

“Jamie… are you?” Grey asked in complete disbelief. But he knew the sound of a prick thrusting in and out of a fist, for God’s sake.

The sound did not falter as Jamie asked, “Have ye ever had sex with a woman?”

Grey had been hard for a while now, but he was practically breaking through the buttons on his breeches. “I imagine I’ve had sex with at least as many women as you have.”

There were whores, like the one next door, when he was younger and trying to understand himself. Women in the years after Hector. He’d fallen drunk and half-alive into so many beds and nothing seemed to matter. And there had been, _was,_ Isobel. He always helped her find her climax, but he knew he was no master actor.

“Ye like that too?” Jamie managed through labored breaths. 

“It can be pleasant, but it’s not the same.” No, nothing was the same as being with someone who you truly wanted, who truly wanted you in return. Christ, Grey could feel himself dripping now. He slid his own hand down between his legs. “Jamie… can I…?”

“Do as ye will, Major.” 

“Please, please. I want it. Please.”

“Does it feel differently, around your prick, an arse?”

“ _Jamie.”_ Grey sped up the touch of his own hand as he replied, “God, yes. It’s tighter, deeper, somehow. And, when you make it feel so good for him and he just gives in to you, turns all soft and warm. There’s nothing like it.”

“What do you want, beautiful thing?” the man next door said, but Grey was barely noticing him at this point. “Tell me everything you want.”

“Ye ever… ye ever put a cock in your mouth, John Grey,” Jamie asked, his words coming from somewhere deep, rough-edged in his chest. “Would ye put my cock in your mouth?”

“Yes. Christ, yes.” John moved his hand faster as he arched off the furs. “I’d get on my knees for you right now, if you would have me.”

“You’d let me finish in your mouth?” Jamie managed through delicious, heavy breaths. 

“No, I’d want you to finish on my face,” Grey replied, deliriously. “Or bend me over the foot of that bed.”

“Ye want me to bugger you, Major?”

Grey made a pitiful sound. “I’ve wanted that since Ardsmuir, Jamie.”

The sound of Jamie pleasuring himself stopped, and Grey was overcome with fear that he’d said the wrong thing and that, at best, Jamie would break his nose and throw him out of here. At worst… Grey thought of the snapped neck of that rabbit at Helwater.

“Give me a moment, but dinna stop.” Jamie’s words, which seemed friendly enough, allowed Grey to breathe again, to sink back into the place he’d been just moments before. 

“For God’s sake, you’re going to kill me,” Grey moaned, not stopping, just as he was asked to do. “I think I might truly die if you leave right now.” Jamie didn’t respond, but he could hear the man rummaging around behind his head. “What are you doing?” Grey finally asked, too impatient to wait any longer. Thankfully, he didn’t have to.

A lantern illuminated the room in a painted mix of orange shadows. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw Jamie sprawled on his side, breeches open, his thick, red endowment was sheathed in his hand. 

“Do ye like my prick?” he asked, his voice like spade carving into gravel. 

“Oh Dear God.” John whined, squeezing himself to keep from ending it all right there.

“Get on your knees in front of me,” Jamie demanded, now sitting on the edge of the bed. “Dinna stop tugging yourself.”

Grey did as he was told and moved onto his knees between Jamie’s bare legs. “Do you want me to…?” his gaze dropped to Jamie’s sliding hand. He could already taste salt on his tongue, feel the ache of his stretched lips and throat, roughly used. 

“No.” Jamie shook his head, bottom lip dropped down. His eyes met Grey’s and then stayed in places “I want to watch you… make yourself feel good,” he mimicked the words of the man in the other room.

If Jamie Fraser wanted to watch, John Grey would let him. He kept his eyes on Jamie, even while leaning his head back until he felt the stretch in his neck. He touched himself, imagining it was a bigger hand, a rougher hand.

Jamie’s eyes flashed brilliant and bright, still looking at Grey. His mouth was open as he cried out, “Oh, John. Christ, John. _John._ ”

Wet heat splashed across Grey’s cheeks 

“ _Jamie,_ ” Grey gasped and finished on the floor, between Jamie’s bare feet.

Still delirious, Grey wiped a finger through the seed on his face and painted it across his tongue. _Fresh-baked bread and ale,_ he thought and smiled to himself, just like the man’s kiss.

Without saying anything, Jamie tucked himself away and disappeared into the darkened corner of the room. He could be thinking anything and that terrified Grey. He wanted to say something, break the silence, but he couldn’t manage it. Moments later, Jamie reappeared in that amber half-light, holding a dampened white cloth. He held the cloth out to John.

“For your face,” he said quietly, then slid back into his bed.

Grey used the cool cloth to clean himself. When he was finished, he began buttoning up his breeches, preparing to lay back, dumbfounded, in his mountain of quilts and furs. 

Then, Jamie whispered, “There’s room up here… if ye want.”


End file.
